


Blood Will Tell

by crazydiamondsue



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazydiamondsue/pseuds/crazydiamondsue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Expanded Spike and Riley scene from Season 5's "Into the Woods." With smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Will Tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [turnonmyheels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnonmyheels/gifts).



_Spike: No, you got the better deal. _

_Riley: I’m the lucky guy. Yeah. I’m the guy._

“So what was it?” Spike asked, lifting the bottle to his lips again.

Riley looked up, his face expressionless, eyes blank. “What?”

Spike shrugged, turning the bottle in his hands. “Well, I know I said all that about Buffy needing a bit of monster in her man, but I didn’t mean you to take that literally. I meant that the monster _is_ the man. You might think this little walk on the dark side proves that you’ve got unplumbed depths, but it was borrowed darkness. And really, a bit tacky. Not the sort of thing the Slayer goes for.”

Riley dropped his head, his eyes on the floor. “And you know what she goes for,” he said flatly.

Spike settled back in his chair and winced as the chest wound throbbed, lifting his hand to it. “Well, I knew Angel.”

Riley looked up at him, startled.

“Didn’t tell you that, did she?” Spike asked, nodding. “Yeah. Knew him, the him that was and that – thing that walks around wearing his face now. Know how he got to her. Why.” He stood up slowly, making his way toward the refrigerator across the crypt. He reached into it for a bag of blood, and then turned back to Riley. “Mind?”

Riley’s face registered brief disgust, and then he shook his head.

Spike scoffed. “Yeah, you’re squeamish.” He vamped, ripping open the bag with his teeth, and then drank, taking long, slow pulls and feeling his body use it. The healing starting, but slowly, as he made his way back to the chair and dropped back into it, facing Riley again as he spoke.

“Angel joked about it once, you know? How he gave her the old ‘tortured’ act. I mean, he was feedin’ me a line at the time, but on some level, he meant it. Givin’ her something she could save. Somethin’ she could make right. Seductive, that. Part of bein’ the Slayer, though, innit? Slayer…Savior. She thinks it’s one and the same. And that’s where you messed up, Farm Boy,” Spike said, tossing the bottle back to Riley. “You didn’t need to be saved from somethin’ in you. You wanted her to save you from _her_.”

Riley looked down at the bottle in his hands, hearing the click of a lighter as Spike lit a cigarette. “Think so, huh?”

“I think that this wasn’t really about her,” Spike said, nodding for Riley to drink and smiling in satisfaction when he did. “Don’t like you. Don’t really think you’re all that bright, but I do think you’re smart enough to suss out that this really wasn’t the way to get the Slayer to see you as equals. Doesn’t make much sense, does it? Goin’ behind her back, betrayin’ her, and with the one thing you knew she’d hate the most. ‘Cause Buffy doesn’t have that kind of darkness, that kind of desire.” He took a deep drag and then let it out, smiling up at Riley, “Not yet.”

Riley capped the bottle viciously, flinging it back at Spike. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, Spike. Just because she’s let you tag along a few times, dropped you a few crumbs, you think you understand what she feels about me, what I feel about her. You think you…”

“Why am I not dead?” Spike interrupted softly.

“What?” Riley asked sharply.

Spike shrugged, nodding at the plastic stake on the floor. “Know good and well you’ve got plenty of the real thing lyin’ around in easy reach. Instead you show up, warning me off Buffy, using toys?” Spike shook his head, pursing his lips. “Seems to me you’ve got nothing to lose goin’ through with it, goin’ all the way. And trust me, at this point, it might be the one thing that’d show Buffy you _do_ have some real darkness.”

“Are you _asking_ me to stake you, Spike?”

Spike quirked a brow. “Just sayin’ I don’t think you showed up here about me and the Slayer. Or about Buffy at all. If this was about Buffy, you wouldn’t be here, blustering and threatening ‘next times.’ You’d be chasin’ her down, begging forgiveness. Instead…here _we_ are.”

Riley shrugged, clasping his hands and looking up expectantly. “So, why am I here, Spike?”

“I think you came looking for a mercy suck.”

Riley’s face hardened and he slowly got to his feet. “You’re crazy,” he said, his voice low, his eyes never leaving Spike’s. “If that’s all I wanted, why would I ever come to you?”

Spike shrugged lightly. “The devil you know…” he grinned, and then his face grew serious, thoughtful. “You could have come to me in the first place, that all you wanted.”

“Yeah,” Riley laughed bitterly, “and have you run straight to Buffy,” he stopped, realizing what he was saying. “Besides,” he said, his smile growing nasty, “I’m not into guys.”

“You know,” Spike said slowly, as he carefully peeled the label off of the bottle, “tonight wasn’t the first time I visited the vampire suck shack.” He looked up, meeting Riley’s eyes evenly.

Riley swallowed, staring back at Spike. “Why?” he gritted out finally.

Spike leaned back in his chair, sprawling slowly, letting his legs fall open until they framed Riley’s stance. “Followed you the first time. After that, started goin’ just to see if you were there. Watching. Wanting to see how far you’d go, what all you needed from them. Heard what you called them, the name you cried out when they took you there.”

Riley turned away, his arms folding, tense and defensive as he stared out the window. “I’d never ask you for that,” he said finally.

“No,” Spike agreed, nodding as Riley turned to face him. “Not what you need, is it?” He set the bottle on the ground, standing and walking toward Riley. “You need my need, don’t you? Need me to do the wanting. The asking.” He raised his hand, splaying it against Riley’s chest. “The begging.”

Riley jerked as if Spike’s touch had burned him and backed away. “You couldn’t, anyway,” he said, his eyes wide, hands trembling, “not with that thing in your head.”

“The blood letting?” Spike said softly, hearing the quiet sound Riley made at that and licking his lips. “Don’t know until I try. The other? Don’t think it’ll hurt my…head.”

“This is insane,” Riley said, moving past Spike, toward the door. “You’re Buffy’s stalker, not mine.”

Spike’s hand lashed out, grabbing Riley’s wrist, holding him. “Not Buffy here, eyes begging me to take the hurt away. Not Buffy shakin’ so hard I can feel the blood poundin’ through her skin.” Spike jerked Riley back against him, their bodies flush front to back, tension binding them tight, as Spike whispered, “Not Buffy cryin’ out my name when she comes.”

Riley groaned, feeling Spike’s fingers lighten on his wrist, becoming gentle, languid, as he slowly lifted it to his lips.

“You don’t know how long,” Spike said, lips brushing against Riley’s wrist, trailing slowly up the inside of his arm. “Just a little taste,” he said softly, words lost against flesh. “Please.”

Riley felt Spike’s mouth open around him, pressure increasing as fangs descended, elongated. He clenched his fist, pressing his arm into Spike’s mouth, deepening the bite. “Do it.”

Spike latched on and drew deeply, clutching Riley’s arm in his hands. Riley closed his eyes and let the world fall away. His knees buckled and he fell against Spike, letting him draw them down to the floor.

The world spun, and then Riley opened his eyes, feeling the cold hard marble beneath him, one hand tangled in cobwebs, the other wrapped fast in Spike’s hair. Beneath his hand, Spike’s head slowly lifted, vampire slowly fading to human, eyes closed tight, lips parted. His eyes opened, and he stared at Riley, licking his lips.

“You didn’t…” Riley said haltingly, his fingers loosening from Spike’s hair, sliding carefully over the curve of his skull.

Spike shook his head, lifting Riley’s arm and bending it to stop the last of the bleeding. “It was you – wantin’ it so much. There was a flash, just as I started and then…” He closed his eyes, groaning. “God.”

“That was something more than…” Riley said, and then shook his head, trying to think straight. “I think I passed out.” He looked up quickly, his eyes narrowing. “You didn’t take too much?”

Spike stared at him for a moment, and then turned away, a dark look fading to a bitter smile. “You just never had anyone need it as much as I did. Kind of overloaded on your own fantasy. I still need, you know,” he said, dragging Riley’s hand between his legs, molding it around the hardness there.

Spike’s eyes fell again to the plastic stake next to them. “Want to try it for real, this time?”

Riley shook his head, his hand shaking free of Spike’s and then turning, cupping, fingers tracing the shape of Spike’s cock through rough denim. “You do it.”

Spike’s eyes flashed with something – surprise? desire? gratitude? – and then he stood, pulling Riley to his feet. He reached down and yanked off his t-shirt, reaching up to feel the place above his heart that was now just a vivid scar, the edges puckered and still tender.

Finding it sore but no longer debilitating, he dropped his hand, waving it at Riley. “Go on, then. Strip.”

Riley swayed a little on his feet, his arm still bent, his face pale but his chest still rising and falling rapidly. “I don’t know if I…” he tightened his jaw and then reached for Spike’s hand, drawing it to his waistband. “You do it,” he said again.

Spike’s head jerked and then he nodded, his fingers curling around Riley’s belt and pulling it off, his eyes on Riley’s as his hand lowered to rip buttons open. Seeing Riley stand there, watching him steadily, his breath labored and his flesh trembling, Spike smirked, reaching up to shove Riley’s jacket off his shoulders. He yanked the white t-shirt over Riley’s head, hands slowing as he slipped it over the arm that Riley cradled against his side.

Dropping to his knees, Spike tugged the tennis shoes from Riley’s feet, shredding the laces and not caring. He felt Riley brace a hand against his back as Spike drew his jeans off, and then slowly rose again, coming face to face.

Spike stepped back, watching as Riley carefully lowered his arm, flexing it. Spike tilted his head, his gaze falling to Riley’s feet, rising slowly up his legs, lingering a moment on the cock that jutted from between them, and then following the line of hard, flat belly up to a smooth chest that shuddered with every breath.

“I’d forgotten,” Spike said quietly, stepping forward and running his hand across Riley’s chest, turning it and tracing the back of it over his stomach and just brushing the curls below. “Been so wrapped up in the Slayer…I’d forgotten.”

Shaking himself, Spike took Riley’s hand and drew him over to the chair. Hand flat against Riley’s back, he pressed until Riley fell forward, hands braced against the back of the chair.

Riley turned his head, looking back at Spike. “Here?” he said roughly. “Can’t we…?”

Spike slid an arm around Riley’s waist, his hand closing around Riley’s cock and squeezing until it earned him a desperate groan. “Don’t really think you’re in a position to quibble, mate,” he said. He leaned in, chuckling, watching goosebumps rise on Riley’s back in the pattern made from his breath. “Only one thing you’re in a position for.”

Still stroking Riley roughly, Spike unbuckled his belt and pulled it off, watching Riley tremble as it dropped to the floor with a hiss. He unbuttoned his jeans, shoving them open just enough and leaving them on, letting Riley feel the scratch of denim against his bare flesh. Spike reached toward the table next to the chair, jerking the drawer completely out, books thumping to the floor. His hand closed over what he needed, the tube old and almost empty, but still enough to suffice. He slicked himself slowly, relishing his own touch and making sure Riley heard every sound of skin against skin.

Then his hand was trailing down Riley’s back, easing lower until brushed against Riley’s balls and rose slightly again, spreading slickness in its wake. “First time?” he asked roughly.

Riley’s head fell forward, and then he shook it slightly.

Spike smiled. “Didn’t think so.” His hand trailed across Riley’s ass until it clenched around a hip, fingers digging deep. “Good thing, too.”

Spike arched back, and then lunged forward, making a shallow breech that still caused Riley’s hands to tighten around the chair until the wood beneath the fabric creaked.

“That what you wanted?” Spike asked, pressing forward until his lips brushed between Riley’s shoulder blades. “Or do you still need me to say ‘please’?”

“Please,” Riley groaned instead, thrusting back against Spike.

Spike thrust forward again, and then pulled most of the way out, jaw clenched as he watched himself withdraw and then press back, deeper. He loosened his grip around Riley’s cock, slowing the strokes, while his hips set a fast, hard pace.

Riley groaned, thrusting his own hips to try to increase the friction on his cock. Spike chuckled and tightened his grip, stripping roughly, slowing his own thrusts until they were little more than a subtle twist of his hips.

“Bastard,” Riley gasped, looking back at him, “this is what you wanted. _Fuck me_.”

“This is what _you_ wanted,” Spike said, his hand dropping from Riley’s cock as he pressed both hands flat against Riley’s back and pumped hard. “The real thing…sucked and fucked. By _me_.”

Spike’s hand slid up Riley’s sweat-slicked back, closing around the nape of his neck and pushing him forward, hips still slamming. “Every time, every night you went there, closing your eyes, seeing my face. _Every_ time,” Spike said, his voice lowering as he slid a finger down Riley’s neck. “This is what you wanted. Even when you were with her.”

“What _you_ wanted,” Riley gritted out, shaking Spike’s hand off of his neck and then tugging it down and around to his cock. He twined their fingers together and wrapped them around his cock, sliding them down the shaft; palms rough against the head and then back again. “’Cause you know this is the closest you’ll ever have to her.”

Spike snarled, fingers clenching on Riley’s hip until the chip buzzed, the pain making him gasp and giving him just that needed edge. His eyes squeezed shut as he came, feeling no more satisfaction when he heard Riley’s choked moan of, “Spike,” just a few moments later.

Spike stepped away, buttoning his jeans and reaching for the t-shirt on the floor. He wiped his hands and then tossed it to Riley, who slowly turned, reaching for his own clothes.

Spike kicked them closer and said, “You got what you needed. Get out.”

Riley looked up at him. “You got what you needed, too.”

“That I did,” Spike said, reaching for the bottle on the floor. “Everyone’s a winner.”

Riley dressed silently and then stood, his jacket crushed in his hands. “Don’t even try it, Spike,” he said, his voice quiet. “Despite what she saw tonight – she’ll never believe you.”

“Wouldn’t be worrying her believin’ _me_, mate,” Spike said.

Riley turned and headed for the entrance, his movements slow and careful. He stopped, his hand pressed against the door, his head falling forward. Then he straightened, shoving it open and stepping out.

“Finn,” Spike called.

Riley stopped, and then turned around, his face expressionless, eyes blank.

Spike tossed the bottle to him, watching as Riley caught it automatically. “You’ll need it,” Spike said, smiling slightly.

Riley looked down at the bottle in his hands and then bent and set it on the floor of the crypt. “You keep it,” he said, pulling the door closed behind him, “something tells me you’ll need it more."

~End~

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue references to Season 5 "Into the Woods."


End file.
